


Catchphrase!

by GreatWhiteShark



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:34:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8522323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatWhiteShark/pseuds/GreatWhiteShark
Summary: Ever wonder what's up with their cheesy catchphrases?





	1. Doesn't feel right comin' back here

“Doesn’t feel right comin’ back here.”

That was...chilling, to say the least. Not in the comforting way either. The cool canyon breeze wasn’t the only shiver going up your spine as Jesse’s rough voice pulled you from your lingering thoughts. It was quiet now, eerily so, since only a few hours before echoes of battle cries and guns a-blazing could be heard throughout the small town of Deadlock Gorge. Not that either of you two minded, it came with the job, but the silence afterwards was always unnerving. It just reeked of sins and forced the winners to carry the burden of guilt for the rest of their lives. 

Yet, unlike any other victorious battle, Jesse had decided to spend some time alone to reflect a bit. Sure, he said he dropped his last cigar back in the bike shop or lost a very, very valuable bullet near the pool hall, but it didn’t take a genius to know those were weak lies he was hiding behind. In fact, you were positive his teammates knew they were lies. Regardless, they respected him enough to give him his space. Jesse was a private man, after all. They all were, they all HAD to be.

It wasn’t until the once blazing sun began setting over the horizon did Winston start preparing the airship for take off. All heads were accounted for, sans the infamous cowboy, and a fleeting “Mind go fetching him for us, love?” from Tracer led you to where you were now: sitting at the edge of the great divide with your legs hanging loosely over the orange-tinted rocks. Jesse’s trail of smoke from his cigar wafted in the air slowly while the cowboy took a deep breath, one that just reeked of a heavy past resting on his tired shoulders. 

You knew that breath well. Perhaps not in the same circumstances as him, but in a similar past full with aspiring actions and unfortunate consequences that followed suit. His words almost seemed like he wanted a response, an inquiry about what he meant, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to ask. It didn’t feel right. You barely knew him, so you figured it wasn’t in your place to learn that part about the deadly gunslinger of the west. You two weren’t friends. Acquaintances, but definitely not friends.

Maybe even strangers who simply worked together would be the right term.

It wasn’t by choice, though. Both of you just didn’t know anything about one another or spent the time to even greet each other when you two crossed paths at the base. Different departments and busy jobs and all that was your excuse. You shivered slightly in the desert cold, goosebumps raising on your arms, as you turned your head to face his rugged profile. For a few seconds, you simply stared at the way he was physically here, but his mind was so, so far away. Distant, perhaps farther than the massive stretch of canyon itself. Yet, even with the stunning stars trying to distract your gaze, you found that Jesse McCree was a true sight to behold at this moment. A legendary cowboy.

A hidden side of him brought out thanks to this one little town on Route 66.

“Gotta admit, I did miss the view,” he muttered, casually leaning back on his metal hand while his other rested on his cigar, “Mighty fine if I do say so m’self.”

And he was right. You would absolutely agree with him. There weren’t many places left in the world where you can see the night sky so vividly, so purely naked to your eyes. You mimicked his pose and angled your head so you could adore the spray of stars hanging above in the vast heavens. In that moment, it suddenly didn’t feel like you were...there. You weren’t in Deadlock Gorge, you didn’t have any responsibilities weighing you down, you don’t even know who you were right now. You felt very, very small and quite humbled to share this private moment with a stranger. 

“Almost makes me not want to leave,” you admitted with a relaxed look easing onto your features.

Jesse glanced at you from the corner of his eye, calculating your words into his mind and perhaps trying to figure out if there was a second meaning behind them. He pulled the cigar from his lips and snuffed it out on the ground besides him, readjusting his serape accordingly on his shoulders. Torn and ripped at the edges, yet it still stayed together through thick and thin, sun and rain, even snow blizzards at one point. It was something he could relate to, oddly enough. It brought him comfort in these trying times, the times that battled in the back of his head when it was deafeningly silent around him. 

Except now. Now was different and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the person besides him offering him company. All he knew was that you were here and his monsters weren’t so loud or prodding his weathered heart with bullets of despair and shame. History hadn’t been kind to him and it was no surprise it kept Jesse up in the late hours of the night. No matter how many times he wanted to wash away the blood on his hands, wanted to redeem his sins in the eyes of the Lord and to himself, those blasted thoughts reminded him that it was impossible. 

Being back in Deadlock Gorge didn’t help either, but you were here, and maybe showing a stranger that there was something, anything, beautiful about this place was exactly what Jesse McCree needed. He needed to see that with the bad, there was good. All you have to do is look for it, share it, treasure it. 

“Well now…” Jesse returned his forlorn gaze back to the glittering stars, “I never did find that cigar I dropped. Think it’ll turn up tonight?”

It may have not felt right coming back here, but it did feel right basking in the familiar natural beauty of the world. It felt even better sharing it with someone, almost to the point where he could say it was nostalgic.

“Nah, I don’t think it will.”

Jesse smiled. Just a bit.


	2. Read 'em and weep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I don't know how to play poker. So, uh, any mistakes about the game... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

In hindsight, perhaps playing cards wasn’t the brightest idea of the night. For one thing, poker was one game you simply sucked at. Not even sugar coating it, you were just awful at it and you honestly think you weren’t even playing it correctly. How do you even pull off a “poker face” with such a casual game between friends anyways? It was supposed to be fun, but by the shit-eating grin on Jesse’s face, you had a feeling he was the only one enjoying this poker night. 

“Read ‘em and weep,” he announced rather proudly before laying out his cards on the table, showing off his...full house? 

At least, that’s what it looked like. You had nothing notable in your hand and, judging by the collective groans of disappointment from around the table, you guessed the others didn’t have anything to beat his cards either. Jesse’s greedy fingers raked in the cash as a few people got up and left, fed up with losing all their winnings for the night. The only suckers remaining were you and Hanzo and that thought caused Jesse’s smug smirk to grow even bigger. It was easy pickings since neither of you two were showing any signs of improvement as the clock ticked by.

“I reckon ya’ll got enough fer, say,” he scratched the scruff on his chin in thought, “One or two more rounds?”

“Hm,” the archer crossed his arms over his chest, “It seems I have been bested at this poker game of yours. A dragon knows when to accept defeat. I will watch.”

Which was his way of saying, no, I’m not going to shame myself by losing. Again. 

“Fine, one more,” you gave in, watching him shuffle the cards expertly and how he even threw in a fancy trick for gloating purposes, “I don’t even have much left on me.”

In your pockets, you had your lighter, some souvenir coins from your last mission, and...lint. Nothing notable at all. You were sure McCree wouldn’t even bother trying to win them over. They were useless and you were partially positive that he already has a lighter installed in his mechanical arm. That thing had almost everything in it. You wouldn’t put it past him to even hoard snacks in there when he got hungry during missions. 

“Ain’t interested in money,” Jesse dealt out the cards swiftly with a light chuckle, “Got enough of that already, darlin’.”

“Then what?” you asked out of genuine curiosity, “I’m not doing any…favors, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

At that, you heard Hanzo let out a small snort of amusement. He knew the dangers of betting favors, especially those that were bordering illegal and/or morally wrong. You were expecting an offended remark from the cowboy, but all you heard was a deep, throaty chuckle come from him. Doesn’t look like he was taking it to heart and, inwardly, you let out a sigh of relief. He was technically your boss or, at least, has more authority than you. 

“Ooh, ya shot me in the heart,” he joked, feigning a pained expression while placing his hand over his chest, “And here I was hopin’ you’d give ol’ Jesse McCree a lesson in smoochin’.”

Now it was your turn to laugh, “Don’t wanna get written up and booted, cowboy.”

He won’t admit it, but hearing you call him “cowboy” did make him feel warm in the tummy. Crossing his arms, he tilted his head slightly in thought then stared at you for a few passing seconds. That grin never left his face and he’d be lying if that light banter tempted him to sass back at you. Instead, another idea popped up in his head while he took a few more puffs of his cigar. 

“Kissin’ on ya is off the table, eh? Alright, I can respect that,” he picked up his cards, scanning them over quickly, then glanced up at you, “A lil’ canary told me you are quite the collector.” 

“Collector? I suppose that’s true, somewhat,” you agreed, reading over your own cards, “I got some silver coins in my pocket if that catches your eye.”

McCree dropped two cards, faced down, then picked up two new ones from the deck. Either he had a shitty hand or he was quite confident in Lady Luck smiling down upon him. While you struggled with your own hand, trying to figure out what the best cards were to give up, Hanzo carefully watched the cowboy shift besides him. Maybe shift a little TOO much...surely this hot desert weather in the Anubis carrier wasn’t overwhelming for him. 

“I’m more of the...cinema type of guy,” he raised a brow at you, “Western movies, to be honest. Heard you got a copy of that there movie The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, dontcha?”

Now, you bristled a bit. Not in anger, but how did he even find out about that? It was in mint condition, never opened DVD box set with all three notable movies of the Dollars Trilogy and added 2 hour documentary interview with Sergio Leone. Jesse must’ve saw you tense and, of course, his sly smirk only grew even more. Sure, his love for old timey Western Films was legendary, but he wouldn’t possibly consider tearing open such a luxury if he had it himself. 

“How...excuse you, that’s not for sale,” you tried to argue, now sweating because once you showed that it was precious to yourself, he’d want it even more, “That’s too valuable.”

“Well, sweet cheeks, you can always meet my call,” he chuckled with a shrug, “Your vintage box for...say, all my loot?”

Jesse held up a small pile of coins that was to represent the money he swindled tonight and, needless to say, you wouldn’t mind earning back what you lost. The dangers of gambling didn’t even cross your mind for a split second. This damn conniving cowboy was up to something, you could see it in the glint of his eyes and the way he narrowed them at you from under the brim of his hat. With a thoughtful hum, you turned your gaze to Hanzo, catching his attention.

“Only if you promise to give me everything right there,” you nodded your chin up towards Jesse’s metal hand, “...and if Hanzo could help me with my hand.” 

There. At least you admitted you’re having problems with this blasted game. 

“Of course, honey, you got yourself a deal,” his voice was TOO confident, “Hanzo, be a dear and help out our buddy.”

Said archer simply rolled his eyes, but he was very interested about how this will all turn out. Perhaps, just perhaps, Hanzo wanted to see McCree get knocked down a few pegs, too. He leaned over towards you, looking down at your 5 cards with a neutral expression, and you tried your best to ignore the faint scent of sweat and cherry blossoms. It was hard not to with how close he was.

Hanzo cupped his hand to his mouth and whispered in your ear, “Keep your hand. It is good.”

In all actuality, it was one of the best hands to get in the game. He didn’t know a lot about poker, but he knew that the 5 cards in your possession was a straight flush. Unless Jesse had something better, which was unlikely, then this game was in the bag. Yet, you were still lacking confidence. You’ve seen Hanzo win and lose his fair share, so his word was the best bet you had at the moment. It was just difficult to accept that you may risk losing your treasured, vintage, ultra-rare box set of the greatest Western movies of its time. 

“That set’s good as mine,” he grinned with all his teeth, slapping his cards down on the table with the faces up, “Four of a kind, baby! Feel free to drop it off at my room, if you so kindly please.”

“Now, hold on there, cow man,” Hanzo chuckled like, well, like a dragon who trapped their prey, “We happen to have a straight flush. A royal straight flush.”

Jesse was more than taken back at his words. A royal straight flush? That only happens when people cheat or, at least, with people he played with in the past. His once confident smile began dropping then a nervous chuckle escaped his dry mouth. Not a big deal, it was just money after all, but his pride was somewhat on the line. He was on a roll tonight, how did he lose the LAST game? 

“That...that’s right, a royal STRAIGHT flush,” you agreed, laying out your hand for him to see with his own two eyes, “That means...I win, right? Yeah, it does! My hand beats yours, don’t it?”

“Indeed it does,” Hanzo chuckled at the flabbergasted expression crossing Jesse’s suspicious gaze, as if staring harder at the cards would change their suit to his favor. 

Needless to say, both you and the archer were happy to see McCree lose for the first time that night. Sure, he folded a few times, but it was something entirely different to see his hand get beat by yours. You could cheer and do a dance due to your lucky victory. Your precious DVDs were safe AND you even have enough to buy yourself even more junk for your collecting urges. Sending an appreciative smile to your helpful partner, you started gathering the money Jesse began emptying from his pockets.

“Can’t believe this,” he was a bit sore, shaking his head in disappointment, but soon enough his casual smile came back, “Bested at my own game. You’re a lucky one.”

Which was his way of saying that, yes, he lost, but don’t think it’ll happen again next time. 

“I’m just glad my...my set is safe,” you let out a relieved sigh, splitting the cash and sliding it towards Hanzo, just to be fair, “Now cough it up, you agreed on everything.”

“...Pardon me?”

“Everything there,” you repeated your own words, “I mean everything. That includes your arm.”

Now, THAT struck panic into the cowboy. He was so clouded with his own inflated ego that he didn’t think you’d ask for something equally valuable to his person. Just like he had done moments before, you forced his hand to give up something he treasured dearly, something he didn’t even count on being added to the bet. His gaze switched between you and a rather amused Hanzo, unsure if maybe he could sweet talk himself out of this one. 

“...That is true. A deal is a deal,” Hanzo nodded firmly and siding with you on the matter.

“Aw shucks, you bein’ serious? I need that arm for, uh, stuff,” came the cowboy’s lame and slightly suggestive response, “I thought you were on my side, darlin’.”

“Hey, you heard the man. Deal’s a deal,” your open hand waited for McCree’s metal one, “I’ll give it back before you go on a mission, honest.”

Jesse was a sore loser, but he was an honorable sore loser. With a mutter of “Angela’s gonna kill me…” he worked on detaching his left arm. A few buttons and twists later, the bionic forearm came off with a slight hiss, faint blue lights still glowing. Now, it was your turn to be proud of yourself. You hadn’t really expected him to give in. Actually, you were pleasantly surprised he didn’t use the “I’m your boss” card. 

“Shoot, sweet pea, if you wanted my hand in marriage, all you had to do was ask,” he light-heartedly joked, making you gape at his bold claim while Hanzo raised a brow at your reddening cheeks.

Stuttering replies was all you could get out.

______________________________________________________________________________

“You are the lucky one, McCree,” Hanzo watched as you closed the door behind yourself, leaving with the metal arm tucked securely under yours, “Do not think I did not notice you cheat. At least the arm is the only thing you lost tonight, nothing more.”

“Cheat?” he acted accused, “I did no such thing, Hanzo buddy pal. That’d be dishonest of me.”

All it took was one raised brow from the archer, that one brow which said “You can not lie to me.”

Jesse let out a nervous laugh, leaning back into his chair, “Unless lil’ pumpkin finds out about that deck of cards in the arm, I’m in the clear.”


	3. I am in your debt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love me some omnic monks.

Pain was a common occurrence in Overwatch. Mentally and physically. Sometimes, you couldn’t tell which one you experienced more of each day. There was never a balance, never a set amount spreading through the hours, and never an option to NOT feel it. It was ironic that today, right now, you’d prefer mental pain. You’d give up your body, your cuts and bruises, and that god awful poison coursing through your veins for a full day of being trapped in your own unstable discourse. 

 

It was like choosing the lesser of two evils and, in all honesty, you’d make a deal with the devil if you could. 

 

“Do not move.”

 

That was the easiest order you’ve heard in a lifetime. Easy, because you simply couldn’t. It was as if your muscles and nerves were simply on fire. Not in the comforting way, either. It hurt like something fierce and if you even considered moving, you know that feeling of needles and knives and burning would rise ten fold. The most you could do was sweat, cry, take deep, shuddering breaths, and stare weakly at the man tending to you. 

 

Hanzo was a man of action. Everyone knew this. He was swift like the relentless gales and strong like the sea during a hurricane. However, as much as he learned about the art of fighting, of limits when it comes to physical pain, he knew very little about taking care of illnesses stirring within blood. Opens wounds were no problem for him. He has the scars to prove his adequate self-care, but seeing you before him left the archer feeling helpless. All he has been doing was placing a wet cloth on your forehead and bandaging your bleeding gashes. 

 

He doesn’t know what was in the poison. Widowmaker’s special formula was, indeed, quite deadly and hard to crack, even by the best scientist at Overwatch. Perhaps that wouldn’t have been a problem at all if they were back at the base in Gibraltar. Unfortunately, you two were stranded at the chilly Himalayas mountains and thousands of miles away from Dr. Ziegler’s healing hands. Hopefully, the team would have noticed missing members by now. Hopefully, you’ll survive the night through the blizzard. 

 

Your breathing was starting to come out strained and in slow, stuttering waves. Hanzo held his calm and collected facade well, but internally he couldn’t even fathom what to do for you. It was a simple recon mission gone wrong and neither of you had anticipated that Widowmaker, along with her ragtag of Talon agents, had already infiltrated the holy temple belonging to the Shambali monks. Returning to this place left mixed feelings in his already state of turmoil and despair. 

 

The last time he was here was in his youthful years when Genji was still…

 

Hanzo’s own thoughts were a poison to his mind. 

 

“W...water…” 

 

Your voice was barely a whisper and you were quite aware that consciousness was fading in and out right now. Your caretaker quickly brought a clay bowl up to your lips, the cold liquid passing over your tongue and successfully quenching your thirst. However, you weren’t getting better. Optimism wasn’t your forte and, apparently, it wasn’t Hanzo’s either. The will to live was fading fast as your body began weakening, shivering, and scorching, all at once. If you could joke about it to McCree, you’d say it was a fever from the hottest, sweaty armpit of Hell. To which you were sure he’d just say something cheesy right back. Something like “Oh hon’, that’s a normal summer day in Phoenix.”

 

But Hanzo? Surely he would send you a reprimanding glare that this was no joke. Death was at the foot of the bed and he knew not what to say to you to make it all better. He wasn’t a man of many words anyways, but when he spoke, it was a demand to be heard, a demand to not be taken lightly. Years of being raised as the rising heir of the Shimada clan gave his voice a firm power that many could only dream of possessing. Yet, if he told you that you will be fine, you will make it, you have nothing to worry about, he knew his confidence would only come off as fake. 

 

Hanzo had doubts about his skills and there was only one other time in his life when he experienced such helplessness. 

 

“I am in your debt,” he spoke with a soft tone, almost as if he was accepting that this passing was out of his control, and maybe that was his flaw in the first place. 

 

The illusion of control was never there for taking. 

 

It was the sound of metal on wood which caught his attention. An omnic, no doubt, but the archer didn’t feel the need to face him. His focus was only on you and how a reckless act of sacrifice left him unscathed, where you were lying on your deathbed. The footsteps came closer, now right besides him as he saw the silver metal of a hand reach out for his shoulder. It was to be an act of comfort, but the second Hanzo felt the cold tips, he instinctively flinched away. 

 

“Hanzo, how are you feeling?” came the one question he did NOT need to hear, but the voice surprised him because that wasn’t a male. It was a woman’s voice. 

 

He remembers her. She was one of the Shambali monks, one who followed under Mondatta’s teachings, and one of the omnics he met those many years ago. A sting of shame poked at his chest with how rude he had been to her a few seconds ago. Finally, he fully looked up at her from his seat and it was clear to her that Hanzo was not doing so well himself. Her gaze switched to the body lying in the bed, blinking out of life and death, then she turned to the archer.

 

“My team mate…” Hanzo started, purposely avoiding her question, “Will not make it through the night.”

 

“Do you believe that?” she asked, unperturbed by his haggard stare. 

 

“How can I not? Do you not see that which lies before me?” he ran a tired hand through his hair, the stress taking over him, “How can I not believe that?”

 

“Hanzo, we will all pass into the Iris one day. You know this teaching well,” she explained softly, but he childishly glared at the ground. 

 

“And I know that what happens will happen if I believe it will,” which was his way of saying he can not change fate, “Hope will not help me here.”

 

“Then, my young one, you must believe your friend will survive,” came her answer and, again, her hand placing itself on his shoulder, “The path to healing is both in mind and body. One can not fully reach tranquility when thoughts of darkness and suffering are taking hold of you.”

 

You were silently listening to them speak, unsure about this philosophy she was sharing. Perhaps your mind was already too accepting of death. You could already hear the stern talkin’-to you would get from Morrison if he knew how easily you were giving up. However, you couldn’t really find motivation to live from simply getting disciplined. That wasn’t something which would keep you going, but hey, at this point you would take anything to save your suffering. Anything, even the blind hope that Hanzo didn’t have. 

 

He was trying so hard to keep you alive, he was struggling, and maybe it was about time you tried to believe in him. 

 

“Hanz…” you mumbled, eyes straining to remain open, “Believe I’ll make it and...and I’ll consider your debt repaid.”

 

You never did like the idea of someone being stuck repaying you for anything. To you, Hanzo didn’t need another death haunting him for the rest of his life. But to him, this redemption felt unfair, like you were letting him off easy. He should have been offended at that, yet it was the gentle squeeze from the monk that stopped his train of thoughts. All he had to do was believe, have hope that there was a slim chance of a miracle, and everything would be happily ever after. 

 

“Hanzo,” came her tender words, “Do not burrow yourself deeper into despair. Have faith.”

 

He hasn’t had hope in a very, very long time. 

 

“...I believe,” his hand gripped the sheet close to your hand, “you will make it….my friend.”

 

The monk pulled a few purple and white tinted plants from her robe, working to make the strongest medicine she could. Hanzo remained silent, carefully watching you and dreading the chance that your breath would stop completely. And you? 

 

You gripped onto Hanzo’s hand while the storm raged beyond the stone walls.


	4. Huh...I might be a little overdressed for this place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should also mention that I have not decided yet if I want to have these stories relate to one another. So, if you're wondering whether Reader in the previous chapter lived or died... ヽ(´ー｀)┌

Popcorn bucket? Check. Large soda for sharing? Check.

Unlimited refills on both? Double check. 

Sunny wasn’t even the right word to describe the weather in Hollywood, entertainment city of the world. Bright, shining, and absolutely perfect for vacationing. Or, in your case, opening night of the famous motion picture Six-Gun Killer, directed by the highly-credited Hal-Fred Glitchbot! The excitement and hype was buzzing in the air as you spotted Mei waving her gloved hand at you, the long wait line almost making it impossible to see her short self. If it wasn’t for her floating blue assistant, you might have not even noticed she was there. 

Carefully cradling the food and drinks in your arms, you jogged up right besides her and offered her first sip. Although it was nearing sunset, both of you had spent the entire day camping in line for the chance to get the best seats in the theatre once the employees opened up the doors. Was it worth it? You’d say so. You two weren’t exactly last, but not first either, so hopes of finding the perfect view of the large screen were in your favor. The hot, sweltering weather was nothing against you two. 

Well, maybe for you. Mei, on the other hand…

“Huh...I might be a little overdressed for this place.”

She sheepishly pulled at the fur collar around her neck, no doubt sweating buckets in this humid weather. You smiled, maybe laughing a bit at her predicament, then pulled off the paper strips covering the straws, one blue and one red. Shoving them both through the lid, you motioned to the blue one being for her lips only, and she sent you an appreciative nod of thanks before immediately taking gulps of the soda. 

“Overdressed? Have you seen all the other people?” you grinned, pointing out the other fans behind you two.

There were people and omnics dressed up for the occasion. Some in regular jeans and shirts, but others, oh, others went all out. Omnics had extra arms, 6 to be exact, just to mimic the main character of the movie. You could even see humans who did the same, albeit less than realistic to their robotic counterparts. Those who couldn’t put the extra expenses to copy the film perfectly did dress up as, you guessed it, cowboys. You even occasionally mistook a few for being ol’ Jesse McCree, but from what you know, he was out on a private mission. 

Unfortunate, because he would’ve fit right in. Though, it was also understandable at the same time. He did have a very large and dangerous bounty on his head. 

“You have a point there,” Mei also looked around the crowd then her eyes landed on one person in particular, “Look at that guy with the cape. Is that a blanket over his shoulder? A leather blanket?”

Mei have been wearing a thick coat and boots with the fur, but at least she was smart enough not to wear black. You were just about to comment further on his outfit, until the crowd began cheering and hooting. It immediately caught both of your attention and, once you two looked around the commotion, you saw that the doors were finally opening to the public. Sweet relief washed over you as Mei pulled out two tickets from her pockets, the line already quickly shuffling into the theatre. To prevent you two from being separated, you held out your elbow for her to lock onto in this crazy crowd. She accepted without a thought, which made your smile beam even more. 

“Okay, so I didn’t get butter for the popcorn yet, but if you want some, I can quickly-” you started, but Mei gave your arm a gentle squeeze.

“It’s alright, I can do it!” she swapped her drink for the popcorn, “You go find us some good seats. I trust your judgement!”

You looked at her with a somewhat proud expression to be given this rare opportunity. A bit reluctantly, you let go of her arm and watched her disappear in the crowd with the bucket of popcorn held between both of her hands. Meanwhile, the second you walked through the air conditioned building, you rushed to the one seat you know to be perfect: the front seats with bars that you often used to kick up your feet. 

It didn’t even cross your mind that maybe Mei couldn’t reach them with her short legs. Getting yourself comfortable in your cush seat, you took off your jacket and placed it besides you so people KNEW that Mei’s spot was reserved. Soon enough, the rows began filling up and the chair on your other side became occupied by “Mystery Man dressed in Black Leather during hottest day of the year.” 

“Hey, I love your outfit,” you complimented after turning to face him, “Six-Gun’s old partner in crime, right? You got it perfectly, even the mask too!”

The lights weren’t dimmed yet, but you could have sworn you saw his cheeks tint pink just a bit. If it wasn’t for his scarf covering half of his face, you would have noticed immediately and probably poked fun, too. His outfit was of high quality with top-notch legitimate leather and the blue dyes all matched precisely with each other. If you didn’t know any better, you’d guess he stole his outfit from the movie producers directly. Or he was one of those actors who watched their own movies to bask in the glow of their fans. 

You were expecting a thanks, or even a flustered response, but all he did was bring a hand up to his hat and tip it in your direction.

“Ooh, you’re in character too!” you laughed in delight, “That’s so cool! Y’know, I think the first movie was-”

It was the chirp of Mei’s robotic friend bumping into you that interrupted your train of speech. You excused yourself, looking for your movie partner. She wised up and took off her heavy coat and, once she spotted you, she hastily tried to stumble through the rows without spilling the goods. You heard plenty of “Sorry, sorry! I’m sorry…” after she kept bumping into people. Honestly, she was too pure for this world. Too sweet, too kind, just like...well, ice cream. 

Mei plopped in the seat you saved for her then let you hold onto the popcorn bucket. It was a mutual agreement you two came up with earlier. She gets to hog the drink, you get to hog the popcorn, so it all worked out fairly well. The lights began dimming and with it, came the hoots and hollering of an overly-excited crowd. You, too, were also clapping and totally ready for this movie to rock your socks off.

“Enjoy the movie,” you whispered to Mei and, at the last second, to the Mystery Man besides you.

He didn’t say anything back, but you could tell he was smiling with his eyes. 

*

“-This town ain’t big enough for the 7 o’ us.”

“It’s a good thing I came loaded then.”

Right on cue, the Six-Gun Killer unwound his 4 other arms, all holding various types guns within his grasp. Bullets flew across the screen and both of you were staring in awe. Mei was on the edge of her seat, taking a few gulps of her drink without even looking, and you were tossing popcorn into your mouth while disregarding the fact that you sometimes missed more than once. This was a great, classic, old-fashioned movie for sure and you knew it was a smart idea to order tickets ahead. 

Worth it? Definitely.

“Pardon me, mind if I have some?” came a heavy Southern accent and, without realizing who it was, you offered the popcorn bucket for him to scoop a handful. 

You were so preoccupied with the movie, so engrossed in all the cinematic masterpiece on the big screen, that it didn’t quite click yet who hid behind Mystery Man. As if on cue, you slowly started eating less and less, almost halting to a stop completely. Pieces began falling together in realization and you scrunched up your brows, eyes coming together in a suspicious squint. Turning to face him, you saw that his scarf was pulled down just enough so he could toss popcorn into his mouth. 

No doubt, that was Jesse McCree, even if he did have a black piece of leather resting on the bridge of his nose to cover his identity.

It was almost comedic because at the same time, Jesse froze up, realizing his mistake. He, too, was so taken by the movie’s fight scene, he hadn’t thought to keep his mouth shut. The cowboy fell into casual comfort with you and Mei, he forgot that he SHOULDN’T make himself obvious to his teammates. Jesse’s eyes caught you staring directly at him as a slight panic began making him sweat under your scrutiny. 

“...Jesse?”

The only word going through his head at the moment? 

Fuck.

*

All three of you left the movie more than satisfied, Mei linking her arm with Jesse’s while you did the same to his free one. He was embarrassed and rightfully so. Jesse Mccree, elite Overwatch agent, wasn’t as stealthy as he thought. He was trying so hard to hide his face by tilting his hat lower, yet neither you or Mei would have that. The man was in both of your clutches now and the least of his problems was being discovered that he was SKIPPING on his missions.

“I ain’t skip them, hon’,” he glanced away, “This WAS my mission.”

You let out a snort of amusement, “You’re telling me Morrison said ‘McCree, I need you to infiltrate this specific theater where Six-Gun Killer is being played?’ C’mon, I’m not gonna fall for that!”

Alright, he’ll admit that his excuse was pretty weak. In truth, he asked Morrison if he could get the day off JUST to watch this movie. Only, he hadn’t expected you two to also be interested in it or even show up at the same theater. Maybe part of him wanted to be found out if only he could share his love of Western movies with you two? Actually, he’d rather keep that part to himself to save face.

“I have to agree, I do not believe you, Jesse,” came Mei’s light-hearted response, “But maybe next time, we can all go together! No hiding!”

“Yeah, and, y’know,” you patted his arm once seeing him blush again, “We’ll even dress up with you!”

Jesse let out a few mumbled, flustered words, cheeks feeling way too warm in the cool night. Yet, he felt a comforting warmth stirring in his chest.

“...Ya’ll wanna see if they’re gonna give out them posters?”


	5. Who's got the hot hands?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% hinting that McCree is ace in this chapter.
> 
> (the crush is super real)

Despite his many shortcomings, McCree was quite a sharp man. 

Not in terms of his dressing choices, no, but more so in the observations of his surroundings. He had to be if he wanted to survive. That was a perk of being on the run and always keeping a lookout for Numero Uno. It wasn’t a bad habit either and it helped him in more ways than one. Like now, for instance. Jesse was watching you, or more specifically, your hands that were holding onto one another in a comforting clasp while you chatted with an Overwatch agent about, shit, the weather or something unimportant. 

He actually noticed a lot about you lately. Now that you were spending more time with him after he turned on his good ol’ Southern charm and successfully lassoed you to his side (absolutely physically speaking), his gaze tended to focus on those little quirks and habits you had. One of them was the way you tend to close yourself off when your space bubble was slightly invaded, not at all in a rude sort of way, but more of a self-assuring sign of security instead. Would it be selfish of him if he said that he was jealous right now?

Absolutely, because he wanted to be the only one holding your hand. He liked the way you would unconsciously lace your fingers with his human one when standing besides him. The simple touch would bring his heart racing and, yes indeed, make his skin a bit clammy, no matter the circumstances. It was by chance that he took note of his own nervousness when you two first held hands. His throat had constricted and he wasn’t wearing his leather glove and, oh god, his face was way too warm and the nerves in his palm was damn sensitive and your skin was so, so soft and was this okay? Was it okay for you? Was the innocent act of holding hands acceptable between you two?

You said yes with a cute smile on your face, hand tightening around his in reassurance. Except...the view of your caring eyes locking with his slapped the man back into his embarrassed state. His favorite pass time now became shyly hiding behind the tip of his hat in hopes to somehow conceal his reddening cheeks. Although, it did nothing to wipe away the obvious joy stretching across his lips. 

Though now, he was grinning openly for all to see. Who would’ve known that after he worked all his flirtatious winks, all his dashing smirks, all his honey-laced words, that the infamous Jesse McCree couldn’t keep himself together because of a simple touch of hands. Often times, he’d just watch you trace your fingertips over his palm, skimming over every crease and aged scar as if he held some sort of secret treasure map within them. Those were his favorite moments, the relaxing mid-noon bonding time the two of you spent together, whether laying in bed or eating some meal at the counters or taking a leisurely walk around the gardens.

Did you purposely hold onto his only hand that had actually feeling in it? Yes. Mainly because it just felt nice, felt comfortable to be sharing this touch between you two, and he made it very clear he enjoyed it as well. Physical contact was somewhat foreign to you and you made it known the first time Jesse kissed you on the lips. The man took precautions since then, but it didn’t stop him from sending you air kisses on the battlefield. He took it slow with you and you had a gut feeling that this wasn’t just for you, but for him as well. McCree was by no means self-conscious about his ruggedly handsome good looks. But his arms…his hands...

“Well, hello there,” he mustered up with as much suave gusto as he could the moment you sat besides him on the couch, not yet leaning into his open arms. 

Jesse patted his chest as an offer, maybe a bit too eager to have you laying against his body. That was another thing, too. Having you close kept him comfortable and yet holding hands made him sweat in the pits? He couldn’t fathom it, but it wasn’t something that he lost sleep over. No, keeping you in a warm embrace didn’t give him any urges to take it further, to take it with you down under him in the sheets. The thought of him, towering over you suggestively, didn’t even mix any naughty ideas in his mind. 

It was odd, now that he thought about it. He didn’t ever feel that...sexual desire for you, or anyone for that matter. Did a fleeting thought cross his mind once in awhile? Sure it did, but he found his heart pounding louder in his chest at the idea of you gently caressing his cheeks, maybe even carding those fingers of yours through his unruly nest or even pressing your foreheads together in utter adoration. Those thoughts did something to him. You did something to him and he found that, well, this is nice. This is something he liked a lot better. 

This is something that, surprisingly, you admitted as well. 

McCree shifted in his spot, adjusting himself for both of your maximum comfort as you situated yourself to, simply put, cuddle him. With your head on his chest and his firm arm lazing over your shoulders, the cowboy let a pleased hum rumble through his throat. He pressed his cheek against the top of your head, indiscreetly breathing in that scent that was just a mix of half his heart and pure happiness. Then, came the gentle, almost questioning, press of your fingers prodding his leather glove. 

He couldn’t stop smiling, stop the way his chest constricted with that ping of nervousness he only got when he felt like he could take on the world and then some. 

“Can I…?” you asked, keeping your fingers lingering on the edge of his glove. 

Oh, that’s what it was. Respect. He liked that about you. He appreciated that about you. Unwarranted as it was, the thought that you asked just to be sure of his comfort or rarely, his discomfort, was something he hadn’t realized was a valuable concept between you two. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? He should be asking you for permission to hug, to smooch, to touch gently and only in places you were comfortable with. Jesse knew his comfort zones and, to an extent, yours as well. Your cheeks were slowly becoming his default place to hold and he didn’t feel any desire to touch more than that, not when your eyes would cause those butterflies in his stomach to whip up one heckuva fierce tornado of feelings. 

McCree took it one step ahead of you and pulled his glove off by using his teeth. He spat it out on his lap, allowing you to brush the pads of your digits over his sensitive ass wrist and force goosebumps to rise on his forearm. He knows you were curious about his burned scar, the one that set his darkened hand apart from the rest of his body. Every time you looked, but you never asked. He faintly wonders if you know how his past incident has resulted in his skin, more specifically the one on his fleshy human hand, to become quite sensitive at even the lightest of feather-like touch. Was that why you were so gentle with him?

“Who’s got the hot hands?” he joked, that deep-timber voice sounding much more alluring with it right besides your ears. 

Jesse wiggled his fingers playfully, waiting, wanting you to already hold it, hold him. The sooner, the better, right? Right. You must’ve been a mind reader because after you let out a soft chuckle at his attempted joke, you immediately obliged his impatience by tangling your hand with his. God, will he always have his fast-pacing heart jump to his throat when you pressed your palm with his? Part of him wondered if maybe he had some sort of...hand fetish, but nah, that couldn’t be it. He rather just let his mind decide that he really, really enjoyed the connection between you two. 

What was it Genji said? Puppy love? Yeah, he could get used to that. Love. He loves you.

There was a set of pillowy lips pressing against his knuckles, but it was only there for a second or two, “I love you, too.”

Had he said that out loud? Well, shucks, he definitely fudged up that romantic confession. His cheeks filled with that tint of pink, his words fell out of his mouth in embarrassed stuttering, his free hand came up to pull his hat down over his eyes because he knew, he just knew, you were looking up at him right now and, goddammit, that fondness and tender loving care could just steal his soul straight out of his body. Jesse McCree felt fifteen years younger and, in all honesty, he couldn’t find a single reason in his mind why he shouldn’t be a flustering idiot around you. 

“Darlin’, what’ve ya done to this ol’ timer?” he kissed you back, just on the forehead, but you cherished those as if they were like fallen stars just for you. 

Reyes taught him a lot of things, but how to handle love was not one of them.


	6. Yeah, I wouldn't drink the coffee. Always tasted like boiled dirt.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A+ to whoever can spot the movie reference!

“Yeah, I wouldn’t drink the coffee. Always tasted like boiled dirt.”

“...And how do YOU know what boiled dirt even tastes like?”

Jesse leaned back and chuckled, not caring if anyone else heard his somewhat obnoxious laugh in the diner. Not that it mattered, the place was sparse, save for you two and the waiter behind the counter. Judging by the bored look on her face, she really could not give two shits about the only customers in the restaurant at the moment. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, she was so bored by the cowboy, it almost seemed like she dealt with his insufferable attitude quite often and just learned to tune him out. Placing your laminated menu down on the counter, you raised a single brow at the man sitting besides you who was nearly on the edge of falling off his stool. 

If he did, THEN it would be your turn to laugh.

“Sweetheart, I ain’t gonna go into details, but when you got one mighty hangover, dirt and coffee tend to look the same,” he grinned, remembering that one fateful day, “And y’might not know this about Commander Reyes, but he is one mean sonovagun. Watched me down it and all! Not even a warning!”

“Wow,” you deadpanned at him at first, then smirked mockingly, “That’s embarrassing.” 

“Not one of m’finer moments, I admit,” yet he was still grinning without shame, “But I gotta say the shakes here are damn good.”

Leave it to Jesse McCree to suggest a milkshake of all things. Though, it did sound good on a hot, sweltering day like this. There was quite a number of...questionable food items on the menu, but you finally settled on a plate of tacos as your meal of choice. Hopefully, that was the safest bet in this fine establishment that Jesse so graciously embellished to you. What was it he said? “Ain’t no better burger in this town or the next, I bet you my hat on that!”

“Howdy, ma’am, I’ll have a Roadkill Burger with a strawberry shake, if you so kindly please,” said cowboy folded his menu shut then slid it towards the waitress.

“And, erm, I’ll take...a Taco Tornado?” you meant to come off as a firm order, but instead it slid from your mouth like a question, “Uh, yes. Taco Tornado…plate...”

The lady took your menus, blew a bubble she was chewing on, then meandered her way into the back kitchen. Jesse tugged at the classic maroon bandana tied around his neck, internally debating whether or not he should remove it in this rather warm building, but once he caught your eye staring at his arms, he paused. And showed off, just a bit. He knew he was built lanky, but his muscles told the real story. His face wasn’t all that bad either, even with the slow growing facial patch on his chin. 

“Checkin’ out m’ guns, darlin’?” he boasted, flexing his arm with a proud and handsome smile.

“Oh, yeah, built like Adonis himself,” the pitiful defense didn’t even phase the cowboy and he saw through your ruse instantly, “But really, I was looking at, well...I was looking at your shirt.”

But who is to say you weren’t also checking him out? In all honesty, he was quite a piece of candy for your eyes, but your attention was actually drawn to his outfit. He was out of Reyes’ standard Blackwatch uniform. Not only that, but his fashion sense actually melted together nicely, especially with his baby blue and white plaid button-up shirt. When he asked you to accompany him for lunch, you didn’t think he’d do a complete outfit change. 

“My shirt? What’s the matter with it?” Jesse looked over himself, wondering if he had accidentally spilled food on himself somehow, despite it not even being cooked yet.

“Nothing! It, eh…” you rubbed your hand over your neck out of nervousness, the slightest tint of pink crossing your cheeks, “It looks nice. That’s all.”

Instead of blushing, Jesse McCree slapped an all-knowing smirk on his face that just hinted at the upcoming teasing. He hooded his eyes at you, those dimples tugging at his cheeks, and raised his eyebrows suggestively. Leave it to him to poke fun at your expense, even when you gave him an honest to goodness compliment. You turned away, unable to stare at his handsome mug any longer, lest you grace him with another praise. 

“Aw shucks, sweetheart,” he leaned a bit closer to you, invading your personal space and locking his eyes with yours, “That ain’t all that’s nice on me, is it?”

“Alright, take it down a notch, cowboy,” you tried to sound confident, but you knew he could hear your wavering tone, “It’s not like I got-”

“A crush on lil’ ol’ me?”

“No! I was going to say-”

“I know, I know, you love me since the day you laid those purdy eyes on me. I get that often, darlin’, no need t’be shy ‘bout that.”

You pursed your lips, starting to get fed up with his constant interruptions, but by the amused gleam in his eyes, you can tell he was only getting started. McCree was always a playful troublemaker and it didn’t matter if it was against friends or foes. He fooled around often and if the day’s battle to take down the Deadlock gang was any indication, he enjoyed it. Maybe a bit too much, in your opinion. 

Before you were able to banter more with him, the waitress finally returned with one milkshake and two straws already dipped in it. Of course, there was the typical whip cream and cherry on top, but the only difference between this shake and every other shake in the world was the chocolate bar Jesse slid onto the table. You picked it up, momentarily distracted by the candy wrapped in simple foil while the cowboy grinned slyly at you. 

Jesse plucked the bar from your hand before you could even read the fine print then crushed it within its wrapper, “Now, lookee here darlin’, flirtin’ aside, lemme show you why I call this a Landslide Shake.”

You watched him crush more of the chocolate into bits, tempted to take first sip of the drink while he busied himself. The waitress stopped by once more, dropping off the fresh, hot meals, right as your friend peeled back the chocolate wrapper and sprinkled it onto the whip cream. Jesse was all about flair and he even did a fancy wrist-flick as if he was presenting you the most scrumptious filet mignon in the state. Of course, during all this, you only leaned on an elbow and watched with amusement dancing in your eyes.

He was such a funny guy.

“And voila, I present to you, m’ valued guest, a Landslide Shake!” he slid the cup towards you, “Made by yours truly, Jesse McCree.”

You had no reason to suspect any sort of dirty trick from Jesse right now. He did seem rather proud of his creation and to be sharing it with you was a sign of trust, right? Maybe this was a big deal to him, especially considering he enjoyed proving himself to his friends. He waited with excited anticipation as you gave the milkshake one stir with the straw, taking your sweet time with the delicacy. Jesse, however, immediately dove into his burger, not even bothering to take his eyes off of you. You’re actually surprised he didn’t accidentally bite into his own fingers with how fast he was eating.

Taking a sip of the drink, you smiled at the delicious, sweet flavor tingling over your tongue. The chocolate bits melted perfectly in your mouth and the smooth milk-blended drink nearly made you wiggle in delight. He was right: this WAS the best shake you’ve had. You couldn’t stop drinking it, greedily slurping what you could before deciding to share what little was left with him. Except, when you offered, he simply plucked the cherry atop of the whip cream and popped it in his mouth, stem and all. 

Of course, you expected this much from the flirty cowboy. In no time at all, he waggled his unkempt brows at you then stuck his tongue out to show you the tied cherry stem as a way to prove “Why, yes, I am a fantastic kisser.” You shook your head at him, shoving his elbow jokingly, but deep down you thought he really did have the skills to back up his BAMF belt. There was never a dull moment with him and you appreciated that considering your jobs as Overwatch agents. 

“Not bad, Jesse,” you complimented, finishing the last of the shake, “Pegged you wrong on this one, I actually like it.”

He didn’t respond, well, couldn’t actually. Half of his face was shoved in the burger, sloppily eating what he clearly couldn’t fit in his maw. Messy eater, as always, and you think that Reyes would have a hard time instilling some manners in the boy. Though, it was hard to be put off by how happy he seemed right now, even if there was ketchup dripping down his chin. That grin of his was too infectious. 

“Told ya it’d be amazing,” he spoke with his mouth full, shrugging as if he was right all along, “No need to thank me. This stomach only knows the best, buttercup.”

However, what he didn’t tell you was where he got that chocolate. One of the main reasons why Reyes never told McCree about that dirt coffee was because they were both pranksters and revealing a trick beforehand was a man’s folly. No one was safe and, as Jesse carefully watched you calmly eat your tacos without a care in the world, he couldn’t help the sly smile from spreading on his lips. You’d get pissed at him for this afterwards, but he knew you’d forgive him in due time. 

A few bites into your food and your face immediately contorted into one of...constipation. Your stomach made a weird, but very loud, gurgling sound and suddenly you felt the strongest urge to take a shit. You didn’t excuse yourself from the counter. You just hopped off the stool and headed straight for the bathroom, unsure where or why this strange laxative suddenly decided to punch you in the gut. 

Was it the food? No, it tasted fine. Great, even. Maybe it was post-mission stress? But you’ve always been able to handle it by yourself without a problem. The shake?

The shake.

It WAS too good to be true. Jesse freakin’ McCree had put chocolate laxatives in the milkshake without telling you. Good lord, he was in for it when you got out of this shithole. Literally speaking. You take back every good compliment you spared on him. He was the absolute worst partner to have and this was a terrible, terrible idea. You knew he was acting TOO nice and now you were suffering for it while sitting on your porcelain throne. 

“JESSE!” you screamed, voice echoing in the empty diner. 

Notorious cowboy only laughed heartily at his successful prank, his hand plucking an unattended taco from your plate.


End file.
